Just South
by AmethystWren
Summary: It's common knowledge that girls go to the toilet in pairs, and these two are no exception. Normally, though, this tradition isn't followed by a plane crash, and the two girls in question don't usually find themselves stranded on an island with a load of boys. But, then again, life's funny like that. Eventual Simon/OC and Ralph/OC.
1. Going Down (Sally)

**This is my first attempt at something like this. If it is terrible, please try not to kill me. Just... Tell me how to fix it. So long as you're polite, I'll try my best to work out any kinks you pick up :)**

**I should probably explain the set up here...**

**It's set in the modern day, but there's a war going on. It's probably about two years into it now, and, well, as you'll see in a moment, they've just started to evacuate kids in their school groups. The boys all come from England, and the school system used corresponds with that. This is mostly because I wanted to stick with that part of the book, and partly because I have a better understanding of British education than I do any other country's, since I live and go to school there.**

**Also, the boys are all a little bit older. Just by a few years.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Lord of the Flies_, nor do I own the boys we all know and love (Or hate- each to their own). I will, however, take this oppurtunity to say that Anna and Sally are my characters *pats them both on head fondly***

* * *

_" A few weeks ago, Allied spies behind enemy lines deciphered a previously unknown code, alerting us to the fact that the enemy possess better weaponry than previously anticpated, including the atomic bomb. Government have had chance to discuss the matter. With more, we have the lovely Joe Blake. Joe, can you hear me?"_

_"Thanks, Jane. I'm here outside the Houses of Parliament, where the government have recently finished discussing a proper plan of action. They've come to the conclusion that we should get the children out of the line of fire. If there is to be a nuclear war, and that seems a likely possibilty right now, I'm sure everyone watching will agree that the children play no part in it. _

_"A small country in South America, which shall remain nameless for security reasons, has agreed to house Britain's children until it's safe for their return. Parents are urged to talk this through with their children, help them pack, spend a few days with them. Because within the next few weeks, schools are going to be boarding planes and boats alike and getting the hell outta here. Back to you, Jane."_

_"Thank you, Joe. Now for the weather with Lizzie McKenzie."_

* * *

Someone knocks on the door and I jump out of my skin. My fear is short-lived, however, when the voice of my best friend rings out from the other side

"Sally, are you _done_ yet?"

"Nearly!" I reply, finally spotting the 'chain' (aka silver button) that makes this toilet flush and pressing it. "Just washing my hands!"

There's a groan from the other side, presumably Anna, and I fight the urge to giggle. She never _has_ been patient. With a flick of my wrist, I hold my hands under the warm running water for a moment before squirting a bit of strange smelling soap into my palms. Rubbing them against each-other and grinning at the vast amount of foamy white bubbles I've created, it's with great reluctance that I put them back under the water and wash them away again.

Turning the tap off, I look around the tiny cupboard of a room and feel my heart sink.

"Anna," I call hesitantly.

There's another groan from the other side of the door; definitely her. "_Yes_?"

"They don't have a towel." My nose wrinkles in disgust of its own accord. "And they don't even have one of those hand dryer thingies."

"Well wipe your hands on your skirt, then." She suggests bluntly.

My blue eyes flit down to my grey school skirt, which hangs to a point just below my knees. "I can't do that!" I insist. "It'll get soggy, and I'll have to sit down in it. Does that sound very comfortable to you?"

"You asked for my advice and I'm giving it to you." She grumbles from outside, in the passenger tube of the plane. "Now, are you coming out any time soon? 'Cos I'm getting bored, and if need be I _will_ go back without you."

Hastily rubbing my hands against my thighs, and mentally cursing the fact that these stupid skirts are so rubbish at soaking up water, I lunge for the door handle and pull it, yanking the stiff door open.

Anna stands on the other side, arms folded, her fingers drumming against her forearm impatiently.

"Well," She huffs. "It's about time."

"I'm sorry." I apologise. "I just _really_ had to go."

Rolling her eyes, she turns to set off down the plane. And promptly stumbles back a few steps as the floor shakes.

"What was that?" I ask her timidly.

She shrugs her shoulders, turning to face me. "I have no-" The plane shakes again, "Idea."

"Someone's shooting at us!" One of the boys from another school shouts excitedly. There are three schools packed into this plane: a seemingly strict all-boys school sit at the back, closest to the toilet; a primary school in the middle, with a load of small, crying kids; and ours, St. Helena's, a mixed gender secondary school up at the front of the plane.

The boys back here start climbing over each other in an attempt to get to the windows and see what's going on.

Anna and I make eye contact just the plane shakes again. One of the windows explodes in a little boy's face, impaling him with little flecks of glass. He starts to scream as a boy who must be from the Catholic school, as _I_ certainly don't recognise him, hurries over and tries to help him.

Apparently, no-one on this end of the plane notice the poor little kid, as they continue to scrabble in an attempt to look out the windows anyway.

"What do we do?" I shout to Anna over the excited racket.

"Are there any windows in there?" My best friend nods her head towards the toilet. I shake my head. Anna turns and stares down the plane, in the direction of our seats. Sighing, she heads towards the toilet, grabbing my hand and dragging me with her. "I'm giving up my pot of pasta for this. Be grateful."

I'm still not entirely sure what I'm supposed to be grateful for as my best friend shuts the door and pulls the bolt, sealing us inside the tiny room. She releases my hands and groans.

"This room is _tiny_." She complains.

I nod. "I know."

"Still, it's better than being shot at."

Again, I nod in agreement. Anna opens her mouth to say something else, but she doesn't have chance. There's a loud bang, someone on the other side of the door screams, and then Anna and I collide with it. The whole tiny room has tipped sideways.

My hand moves along the door until I find the handle, at which point I grip it as tightly as I can, squeezing my eyes shut.

"I think the plane's gonna crash." I mumble, eyes still shut tight.

I hear Anna's sigh from beside me. "No shit, Sherlock."

Hesitantly, I open one eye in curiosity and find myself staring at the back of Anna's dark-haired head. Which means she's also been forced up against the door by gravity. I hastily shut my eye again.

* * *

I'm aware of it all. My cheek pressed against the white-washed wood of the door as we plummet downwards. The way we bounce a little once we hit the earth. The following silence. I keep my eyes squeezed shut.

"Sally," Anna's voice whispers. Someone grips my shoulders tight, shaking them roughly. "I _know_ you're awake."

Opening my eyes, I take a step away from the door. I can do so now, as the room is more or less the right way up again. At least, my feet are firmly planted upon the ground again, rather than the door.

Speaking of which, Anna pulls the bolt across and looks over at me. "You ready?" I nod and she opens the door.

With the unbridled confidence that I'm sure only Anna can possess, my best friend exits the tiny cupboard of a toilet. I tiptoe after her.

The damage is evident immediately; the front half of the plane must've bee blown off blown off, and the seats remaining are either empty or bare the corpse of an anonymous fellow human. I stifle a sob.

Everyone in our school... _If we hadn't left our seats, we'd be..._ I don't let myself finish that thought.

Without the front of the plane intact, there's an enormous opening, through which I can see what appears to be the sea… Yes, those ripples, the way the light dances across the water… That's the sea, I'm certain of it.

"Come on," Anna instructs, heading to the end of our half of the plane and jumping. Hesitantly, I follow after her.

When I land seconds later, it's on something solid; not seawater at all. However, it's definitely something soggy. Glancing down, I notice it's wet sand and, if I look up, we're only a few steps away from the sea I saw just now.

"Where do you think we are?" I ask Anna. She shrugs, tromping off down the beach in her heavy black shoes. I glance at my own shoes, wrinkle my nose in distaste, and rise to my feet. It's not long before I'm sprinting after her. "Anna, wait up!"

* * *

**Sorry for the lack of the boys. There are several references, if you look for them. I promise they will feature _much_ more next chapter, which will be uploaded... Probably next weekend, I think.**


	2. The Boys (Anna)

**This chapter's much longer than the last.**

**Oh, and before I confuse everyone, this is going to alternate between Sally and Anna's POVs each chapter. Last chapter was Sally, this one it's Anna, next chapter it'll be Sally again, and so on. They pick up on different things, so it's mostly to ensure that you guys get a clearer picture of what's happening.**

**That said, I hope you enjoy Anna and her wonderfully sarcastic POV :)**

* * *

I walk down the beach, scouting it for signs of fellow survivors. Thus far, I've seen none, which is both unsurprising and unnerving at the same time. Unsurprising because not everyone has the quick-thinking skills I have and so I doubt they hid; unnerving because a lot of those chairs were empty of corpses, when they'd previously seated a person. Unless... Maybe the plane tipping caused a sort of slide and they all fell into the sea and drowned.

I'm just making up random scenarios now. I need evidence before I'll actually believe anything.

Sally continues to rattle on about… Something… Every so often I'll tune in, but she's really not got her priorities straight; she's talking about how pretty the sea looks. And she can't actually swim, so that's a little weird.

I've about reached the conclusion that, if there are any survivors, they're in the forest. I'm about to voice this theory to my (less observant) best friend when it is proved correct. More or less.

A blond haired boy comes stumbling out of the bushes and onto the beach. He seems somewhat familiar, and it takes a moment for me to place him as Ralph. He sat next to me in Latin for a whole year. And what a year that was.

He'd keep looking over at my book to see what I was writing. About halfway through the year, I told him that he'd better stop or else I'd see how far up his nose I could shove my pen. _That_ put an end to his sneaky peeking at my book, but it also meant he'd ask me instead what words meant. _Every_ excercise we did. Even the _easy_ words. Why oh _why_ did he take the subject?

"Anna!" He calls like we're friends, hurrying over.

Behind him, a second figure breaks through the undergrowth; this one completely unfamiliar. He's slightly overweight, and his breathing seems strained when he finally stops beside Ralph.

"I…Said…" He pants, "To _wait_, Ralph!"

"Who's this?" I ask with a smirk, noticing the blond's apparent discomfort.

"He's been following me since we crashed." Ralph explains grumpily. "And he won't leave me alone!" He glares pointedly at the overweight boy.

Aforementioned overweight boy whips his glasses off and starts to wipe the lens on his shirt. "We got to stick together." He insists. "Now there's four of us. We got to find the others."

Nuh-uh. _No_. If these are our only fellow survivors, I think I might go find a cliff and conveniently walk off of it. Taking Sally by the wrist once again, I stalk off down the beach.

"Bye!" Sally calls out cheerfully as I drag her away. I don't have to look to know that she's using her free hand to wave at them.

* * *

We (read: I) have no luck finding fellow survivors after bumping into Ralph and his 'new friend'. With Sally starting to complain that she's tired, I finally relent in letting her sit on the beach for a rest. I, however, remain standing. I don't much feel like dealing with pins and needles right now.

It's like this, with me standing and her sitting, that we hear a noise; a strange, rumbling sort of noise.

"What's that?" Sally asks, jumping up to her feet.

I roll my eyes. "It's probably nothing."

"Then it won't hurt if we go look!" She concludes, skipping off in the direction of the sound.

I trudge after her. I mean, if I don't, she's going to walk into a bear or something, and that means I'll end up stuck on an island all alone with Ralph and his 'new friend'. Urgh.

We find the source of the melodic rumbling noise (strange combo, I can't help but notice) to be Ralph. I don't know why this surprises me. He's holding a conch shell, blowing into it every so often to create the bizarre melody.

His 'new friend' waves us over. My blue-eyed companion doesn't hesitate to skip up to him like a little lamb; she's far too trusting, I think. I'll admit, the boy seems harmless enough, but it's cautiously that I follow my best friend over to him.

"I got to take names." Ralph's 'new friend' explains to us once we reach him. "So? What're you called?"

I'm about to spout off something about 'stranger danger', and how I really should _not_ be telling guys I've just met, especially ones who hang out with _Ralph _of all people, what my name is. However, Sally gets there first.

"I'm Sally!" She blurts out. "And this is Anna!"

Ralph's 'new friend' nods, taking it in. "My name's-"

"Ooh!" Sally's already tuned out, pointing at something over the poor guy's shoulder. "What's that?"

I love her to bits, don't get me wrong- she is my best friend, after all- but she has the attention span of a goldfish. Actually, a goldfish might be too kind…

Even so, she tends to point out important details (before she loses interest), and I stand on tiptoe so that I can see over the shoulder of Ralph's 'new friend'. By now, he's stopped talking and turned around so that he, too, can see what's captured my companion's attention so suddenly.

It's a trail of black cloaks, walking in single file down the beach towards us and… Singing? I think so. Someone says a line and the others repeat it, from what I can gather.

"What's _that_?" Ralph's 'new friend' wonders aloud.

"It's like something out of a horror movie." Sally decides, her voice barely above a whisper, as though she's afraid being too loud will result in her untimely death.

I roll my eyes. "It's the boys' school from the plane." Honestly, the stupidity of some people.

"Ohhhh," Sally draws out, realisation widening her blue eyes. It could be classed as almost sweet. "I see, now."

Just in front of us, Ralph's 'new friend' nods in agreement. "Me too."

As the line of boys, with their funny black uniforms (seriously, what kind of school insists their pupils wear _cloaks_?), grow nearer, it becomes easier to pick out individual details; they start to look less like a clump of dark fabric and more like a cluster of separate people.

The boy at the front has red hair; very red hair. It's he who says the line, I notice as they get closer, and the others sing it back to him. The boy directly behind him is considerably shorter, and glancing about him as he walks with a sense of awe.

The red-head leads the procession right into the heart of the gaggle of primary school boys sat in the sand in front of Ralph before stopping.

"Halt!" He orders. They do so with military speed and precision as their leader looks around. "Where is the man? You know, the one with the ship, or the plane, or whatever."

Out the corner of my eye, I catch Sally shooting me a confused look, so I turn my head towards her and shrug my shoulders in response.

Luckily, Ralph's 'new friend' is pretty damn smart. Taking a step towards the black-cloaked boys, he says, "What man? There aren't no grown-ups here."

The red-head rolls his eyes at Ralph's 'new friend'. "No-one asked you. Besides, there _has_ to be. We heard his trumpet."

"Ah, I see what's happened." Ralph cuts in. The red-headed boy snaps his attention towards the blond with the shell. "There isn't a trumpet, or a man. Just me and the conch." He lifts it in front of his face for a moment, as if showing it off, before lowering it back down to his side again.

The red-head's face blushes a peculiar sort of cherry colour as he, too, realises his mistake. However, before he can come up with some manner of defence (as I'm sure he will- he seems the sort), the shorter boy behind him falls face first into the sand.

The rest of the perfectly organised line falls into disarray as people push past each-other to get to the boy who fainted.

"Just leave him!" The red-head snaps, and a few people shuffle away from the boy lying in the sand. The majority, however, completely ignore the order and stoop to help him. "He's always fainting- just leave him!"

Those who ignored the red-head drag the fainted boy over to the shade beneath the palm trees separating the beach from the jungle beyond it. Lowering him to the sand once again, they hurry back over to the rest of us, leaving him alone in the shade.

"Someone needs to stay with him…" Sally murmurs, likely to herself. She's probably thinking back to the time she fainted:

* * *

_We were in year 7, and it was the hottest day of the summer so far; our P.E. teacher was adamant that we 'make the most of it.' Despite our grumbling, she'd insisted we get changed and marched us out to the field._

"_We're going to be doing the Canadian relay today!" She announced gleefully._

_I've never heard groans so loud as ours were upon hearing this piece of torturous information. Was it so hard to just let us lie in the grass for an hour with a book? Was it really that difficult to imagine that we don't all like running round in circles for no actual reason? I mean, it's probably hilarious to watch, but to take part in… It's Hell._

_Luckily, Sally and I were placed on the same team, along with two other girls; Amelia and Martha. _

_We were on our last circuit before we would be finished, back in our starting positions. Before we could finally go inside and have a drink. Martha passed me the baton, I ran as fast as I could up to where Sally stood, passing the green bar to her. She took it, ran to Amelia, handed it to her, and then her legs just sort of… Buckled…_

_We haven't done Canadian relay since, though, so that's a good thing to come out of it._

* * *

Sally looks over at me, almost like asking permission before she does anything. I incline my head in a nod and she hurries off, weaving in and out of the boys so that she might sit in the shade and wait for the boy who fainted to open his eyes again.

"We should really know each-other's names." Ralph decides, moving to stand beside his bespectacled 'new friend', the opposite side to me. "I'm Ralph."

"That's Johnny." The bespectacled boy between Ralph and I picks up, pointing. "And they're twins; Eric and Sam, right?"

He's right, they're twins. In fact, they're so identical in appearance, they could almost be clones. Well, save for the fact that one has sandy hair a _tiny_ bit longer than his brother. "I'm Eric." The longer-haired twin corrects.

"And I'm Sam." His brother adds.

"I'm Merridew," The red-head introduces himself proudly, "Jack Merridew."

_Bond, James Bond. _The introductions sound far too similar to be mere coincidence. Do we have a spy movie fan in our midst?

"And this is Anna," Ralph's 'new friend' continues, "And that's Percival, and his name is-"

"You talk too much." 'Jack Merridew' interrupts. "Shut up, Fatty."

The little primary school and uniformed older boys alike collapse into peals of laughter. I try glancing at Ralph, and am unsurprised to see that yes, even _he_ has the makings of a smile on his face. God, _grow up_.

"Actually," Ralph says, his smile becoming a grin, "His name isn't Fatty. His _real_ name is Piggy."

If Jack Merridew had a drink, this is about when he would snort it up his nose and then choke on it. The others, somehow, find it in them to laugh even harder than before.

Mortified, 'Piggy' slinks back a few steps. Subconsciously, I move in front of him (I blame all these years looking out for Sally), acting as a wall between him and the others.

It's only after I do this that I realise it puts me next to Ralph. Crap.

Jack Merridew looks at the uniformed boys from his fancy-pants school. Though they no longer stand in their line, their black cloaks are pretty hard to miss. They name themselves in a somewhat less boastful (and less Bond-like) fashion to their red-headed leader.

"I'm Maurice." A boy equal in height to Jack (in fact, perhaps even slightly taller), but less formidable due to the carefree grin on his face, introduces himself.

He nudges the boy beside him with his elbow, who up until this point had been staring at the floor and glancing up through his dark fringe every so often, taking everyone in.

"Roger." He mumbles, barely audible, before reverting back to digging the toe of his shoe into the wet sand.

There are lots of them; lots and lots. I glance over at Sally and try to convey my boredom in my expression. She grins knowingly. Beside her, the boy who fainted earlier sits up. He goes to stand, but she grabs his wrist and yanks him down again, no doubt rattling on about how he has to rest for a few minutes before he does anything. Scatter-brained as she may be, Sally knows her stuff.

A few minutes later, a boy called Robert is intruding himself just as Sally and the boy who fainted make their way back over, her acting as a crutch for him the whole while. I doubt he needs it, but he goes along with it anyway. Probably to spare her feelings.

Sally deposits him with Maurice and Roger, scampering over and shimmying her way in between me and Ralph. _Thank you_, Lord, for sending me a wall in the form of my best friend.

Maurice whispers something in the fainted boy's ear and he nods.

I presume Maurice told him to tell everyone his name, for he says "I'm Simon." And then hurriedly glances down at the sand, embarrassed.

"And I'm Sally!" My cheery best friend is practically bouncing on the spot.

They all turn to look at me pointedly. When I make no motion to introduce myself, Sally pokes my shoulder. Repeatedly.

"Damn it, Sally! Stop it!" I snap.

She lowers her finger, but maintains eye contact. "Be polite, Anna."

Rolling my eyes, I turn to face the boys (minus Ralph beside Sally and Piggy behind me). "I'm Anna."

Jack Merridew nods. "Right, now _that's_ all out of the way, what're we going to do? I mean, I don't know about you guys, but _I_ want to be rescued."

"We should have a leader." Ralph says loudly, capturing everyone's attention. If there's something he's good at, it's being loud. And probably sports; he missed a lot of lessons because he was off playing tennis or something of the ilk.

"Like a chief!" One of the littluns squeals excitedly.

The blond haired boy smirks to himself. "Yeah, I guess; like a chief."

"Well, in that case," Jack Merridew straightens his back slightly. "I think _I_ should be chief. I'm the leader of the choir, and I can sing C sharp." Well done. Have a medal.

Something nudges my left shoulder. Sally stands to my right, so my head snaps round pretty quickly. When I see it's just Piggy, leaving his hiding place behind me so that he can better see what's happening, I relax considerably. I'm not sure what I was subconsciously expecting, but Sal and I are on an island full of boys, only one of whom we actually knew before we crashed.

"I think," The furtive boy from before (Roger, right?) says slowly, punctuating each word, "That we should have a vote."

The littluns find this notion incredibly exciting. I'm learning, I think, that these primary kids find _everything_ exciting.

"Shut up!" Ralph shouts over the top of them, effectively silencing everybody. "Who wants Jack for chief?"

All of the boys from his school, with their weird uniforms, raise their hands; some more eagerly than others. Only one or two of the littluns do.

Myself? I don't vote for Jack. I don't know him; I can't trust him to do the right thing. Ralph, as annoying as he may be, won't do anything too stupid. I hope.

Speaking of whom, Ralph counts the hands raised to vote for Jack Merridew.

"Okay," He nods, making a mental note of the number. "Who wants me?" I snort. "For chief! Who wants me _for chief_!"

"Anna!" Sally whisper-shouts at me disapprovingly. "Get your mind out of the gutter!"

Even so, we both raise our hands. Piggy hesitates a moment before doing the same.

The majority of the littluns vote for Ralph, likely because he has a conch and a friendly face. Jack, so far, has come off as more… Shouty.

Ralph counts the hands, although he _obviously_ has more votes. You'd have to be blind not to see it. "Looks like I'm chief, then." He smiles at Jack good-naturedly.

Jack tries to return the gesture, but it doesn't quite meet his eyes.

"You can keep the choir, of course." Ralph hurriedly compromises. "They can be…" He trails off, staring at Jack pointedly.

The red-head ponders the idea for a moment, "Hunters. They'll be hunters."

Such _boys_.

Ralph nods, turning to the portion of beach where the majority of the others sit. "I need time to figure things out, still." He explains. "We don't know if this is an island. It might just be a beach in some bigger country, like America. Or maybe it's a peninsula."

A couple of the littluns turn to shoot each-other confused looks. I get the idea that Ralph's just using long words for the hell of it now and, judging by the sharp snort Piggy makes beside me, I'm not the only one with such a suspicion.

"Some of us," Ralph continues on, "Should go see what's happening, and if we should be trying to be rescued. Not too many, though, or else we'll lose people. So most of us will stay here, on this beach; _no_ moving." He pauses, swallowing quickly. "I'll go. With Jack?" He looks at the red-head, who nods in affirmation. "And… And Simon."

Simon seems more than a little surprised by this, as do we all. Of all the people here, pick the one who _fainted,_ why don't you? Sometimes, I seriously wonder what goes on in that guy's blond little head.

Still, once he's over the initial shock, Simon nods. "I'll go."

Piggy shifts nervously beside me. "And I'll go too."

Jack glares at him. "We don't want you, Fatty." He sneers. "Besides, three's enough."

"But I found the-"

"Wait here, Piggy," Ralph instructs, handing him the conch and making off for the jungle before he's even finished his sentence. Jack hurries after him and Simon, rising to his feet and glancing at Maurice with a puzzled expression, follows.

"You know what?" Piggy says to me.

I turn to face him. "Hm?" I prompt him to continue.

"I'm not going to just… To just _wait_ here!" Thrusting the conch into my hands, he runs after Ralph.

* * *

**God, I hope they're all in character.**


	3. It's An Island (Sally)

**Gosh, you people are quiet, aren't you? I'm almost afraid I'm going to frighten you off. But, then again, this is the _Lord of the Flies_ fandom, so somehow I doubt that'll happen very easily...**

**Anyways, thank you my quiet readers :D Hopefully you're silently enjoying this, and not silently loathing it.**

* * *

A few minutes after he left, Piggy (I highly doubt that his parents _actually_ called him that, despite what Ralph said…) comes back from the direction Ralph, Jack and Simon headed. His eyes are filmed by tears, but I don't think he'll actually cry. Something tells me that this sort of thing is a regular occurrence for him.

"What's up?" I ask, though, bouncing over to him.

He stops walking towards the others, who are more or less in the same place that they were five minutes ago, and attempts a smile. "Nothin' I can't handle."

I fold my arms and raise my eyebrow in an attempt to seem intimidating. "Really?"

His smile seems a little more genuine, this time. "Yes, really."

"If you say so." I let my arms fall back down to my sides; I never feel comfortable folding them for long periods of time. "Though if anything you _couldn't_ handle cropped up, would you tell me?"

When a few seconds pass by without an answer, I hastily add to my previous statement.

"Because, let's face it, I could _so_ take Ralph down." It's a lie; he's about twice as tall as me and several times more muscular. But I think it's fairly obvious I mean it as a joke...

Even so, when the disheartened boy beside me snorts in a failed attempt to disguise his laughter, I pretend to take offence anyway.

"I could!" I insist.

"He's about ten times the size of you!" Piggy states bluntly, even if it _is_ a slight exaggeration.

I grin. "A minor detail."

We carry on talking and joking around. After a little while, Piggy doesn't look like he wants to cry anymore, which I shall count as an achievement on my part. Glancing around for the first time since I went scurrying over to my 'new friend', I spot Anna standing a little further down the beach to the gaggle of boys, skimming pebbles across the ocean.

Show-off. She _knows_ I can't do that.

Wait, where did she even find any pebbles? This is a sandy beach. Unless there are pebbles further down or something? Oh, I don't even know anymore.

"I could never do that." Piggy's voice makes me jump. I turn my head and find that he's apparently followed my gaze and thus spotted Anna. "My auntie tried to teach me, but the stone just sunk. Every _single_ time."

"I know!" I agree, nodding. "It looks impossible!"

"It _is_ impossible." He removes his glasses and proceeds to rub at the lens with the corner of his shirt. "Well, not _really_ impossible, of course. Otherwise _no-one_ would be able to do it."

* * *

Ralph, Jack and Simon still aren't back. I'm not sure how long we've been talking for, but the sun has started its descent when eventually Piggy and I cease our conversation.

"I've got to go take names." He tells me matter-of-factly.

I thought he'd already done that, but I won't question it.

The idea of asking if I can accompany him crosses my mind, but something tells me he won't appreciate it very much. Besides, Anna's been standing there on her own for the duration of mine and Piggy's conversation; I can't help but feel a _little_ guilty. I mean, she _is_ my best friend.

Making my way over, I tap her on the shoulder and wait for her to turn around, her characteristic glare already etched upon her face. Immediately, I feign innocence.

"I most certainly did _not_ just tap you on the shoulder." I lie.

With a roll of her eyes, she turns back to the ocean and skips the pebble in her hand over the waves. "Of course not." She grumbles sarcastically.

"An_na_," I draw out, sitting down on the floor beside her feet. My fingers, almost automatically, start to draw patterns in the wet sand in front of me. I think it's a little like when you sit in a field of grass and start pulling shoots of it up without really realising. You just do it without really knowing why.

"Sal_ly_," She drags it out, too, only she sounds much more tired than I do.

Still tracing circles into the soggy grains in front of me, I glance up at my best friend. "I know you don't like people, but you could at least try to fit in a little better. We don't know how long we're going to be here with these people. Maybe it's forever."

Anna seems to hesitate for a moment before she sits down beside me. I notice she does _not_ start drawing patterns into the sand; though she never was the sort to pull tufts of grass out of the ground, so I suppose that's to be expected.

"We won't be here forever, Sal," My black-haired friend assures me.

"But how do you _know_ that?" I stress. "We might be."

She shakes her head defiantly. "Nope. We won't."

"Well, I guess forever is a long time." I agree solemnly. "We'll die eventually, after all. So then we won't be here forever, because we'll be dead." My nose wrinkles as a particularly odd thought crosses my mind. "Where will we bury dead people? Sand doesn't seem like a good idea. It'll just blow everywhere. And wet sand will make their body go all soggy and wrinkly and stuff."

Anna shoots me a look that seems to question where on _earth_ I could've possibly plucked such a random topic of conversation from. "_No-one's_ going to die here, Sal. It might not even _be_ an island, remember?"

"It will be." I insist. Because, honestly, what else could it be? I don't think I've ever read a story about a plane crashing on the beach of anywhere _other_ than an island. Of course, if I voice this, Anna will point out sleepily that 'A story's a story, not real life.'

This is the same girl who helped me search for Narnia when we were eleven. We didn't find it, but we had a picnic in my grandma's wardrobe, which was fun. I think we're too big to do that now, though. In terms of height, of course; we'd never fit inside my grandma's wardrobe and still have enough room for a picnic hamper and blanket. Age-wise, I don't think we'll ever be too old for such things.

Well,_ I_ won't, at any rate.

My thought process is interrupted by a low, melodic sort of rumble, which can mean only one thing; Ralph, Jack and Simon are back. Or maybe someone behind us is really hungry, and their stomach has a strange way of rumbling.

Still, I rise to my feet and turn around. The others are already hurrying over to Ralph, who stands between Jack and Simon with the conch held high above his head, like he's beckoning for us to meet him. Grabbing Anna's wrist, I yank her to her feet and drag her over.

* * *

It's an island, Ralph reveals. I feel psychic, and it is _awesome_. I knew it!

Not only is it an island, but it's one that (as far as the exploration team could see) has no inhabitants. Well, no _human_ inhabitants, anyway. Jack said that there are a lot of pigs, and Simon mentioned something about butterflies. So there are animals, which is cool.

"So," Ralph concludes, "This is an island. We're the only people."

"But there are pigs." Jack adds.

"Yes," Ralph confirms tiredly (the pigs have been mentioned several times now). "There are pigs. Any questions?"

Almost like they've been holding it in, the primary school kids start talking and, when they aren't heard, yelling over the top of each-other. This, of course, means the others aren't heard; so _they_ yell, and on it goes like some sort of very loud cycle.

Beside me, Anna's fists clench and I pat her awkwardly on the shoulder. She glares at me, but there's a small smirk on her lips when she looks away, so I'm guessing I helped a little.

Out the corner of my eye, I notice Ralph shooting Jack a pleading glance, almost like he's asking for guidance. Piggy, who stands at the front of the crowd, just in front of Ralph, opens his mouth like he might say something. However, Jack gets there first.

"Shut up!" He yells, loud enough to drown everyone else out.

The littluns fall silent. There's a dull ringing in my ear, and I suspect it's due to the sudden depreciation in noise levels. Either that or my ear infection has come back, which would be annoying. I doubt there's a doctor on this island, and so there's no way I'll be able to get hold of any antibiotics.

Unless… Isn't penicillin basically mould? So if I grew some mould and then ate it, my maybe-ear-infection would be cured! Yay!

Although mould doesn't seem like it would be a good thing to eat. So maybe I will pass on that one.

Ralph smiles his thanks at Jack before turning to face the majority of us. "We need some sort of rule to stop people talking over each-other." He pauses to think. "Maybe 'hands up', like we did at school." He looks over at Jack. "Did you guys have hands up at your school?"

"Yep."

"Good." He doesn't ask the primary school kids about whether or not they had 'hands up' at _their_ old school. "_Ooh_, wait! We could have a rule so that whoever is holding the conch can talk! No-one can interrupt them. Except me, of course, because I'm the chief. So you raise your hand to ask for the conch, I'll give it to you, and then you can talk. Make sense?"

There are a few slow, confused nods. I am one of these nodders. Beside me, Anna rolls her eyes and does _not_ move her head.

"So," Ralph continues. "I have the conch. Does anyone else have a point to raise?"

Beside him, Piggy coughs into a fist whilst raising his other hand. It takes Ralph a moment to notice him but, when he does, he gives him the conch, just as promised.

"You still haven't mentioned the most important thing." He insists. "Nobody knows we're even here. They had a rough idea of where we were _going_, but they won't know we're _here_."

There's a pause, in which we all stare at Piggy, waiting for him to continue. But he doesn't, so Ralph takes the conch back once more. "Yes, that's right." He confirms solemnly. "No-one knows we're here. Besides us, of course." The silence is thick and heavy. "So… We might be here for a while…"

"But not _forever_." I trill quietly to myself. Luckily, he doesn't catch it, but the littlun to my right shoots me a peculiar look.

Ralph, oblivious to my comment, tries his very hardest to lighten the dull mood Piggy's revelation has created. "We'll have fun, though. This island is great! There's fruit, and beaches, and it'll be just like… Like an _adventure_!"

Jack holds out his hands and Ralph carefully gives him the conch.

"There are a lot of pigs." He mentions for about the _millionth_ time, "And a river just over there," He nods in the direction of said river.

To my right, the littluns start to whisper amongst themselves. The tone grows harsher, and I'm considering intervening when one stumbles forward, landing himself a little way away from Jack and Ralph. Half the little boy's face is covered by a big birthmark, but really I think it just serves to make him even more adorable. Little kids are so _sweet_!

The little boy with the birthmark holds his hands out, presumably for the conch. Jack hands it to him wordlessly.

He stands for a moment, staring at the conch and occasionally shuffling his feet. We watch in silence, waiting for him to talk, but he doesn't.

Ralph starts to grow impatient. "Go on, then. Speak up."

The little boy shakes his head.

"You heard him." Jack enforces Ralph's words. "Say something!"

But, again, the little boy shakes his head and remains silent.

Piggy, in the end, kneels down in front of the little boy and coaxes something out of him. But it's only a whisper, and I'd be surprised if anyone save for Piggy heard it; I know_ I_ certainly didn't.

"What did he say?" Ralph asks (apparently, he didn't hear it either, and he's much closer than I am) as Piggy rises to his feet and tries to rub the sand off of the knees of his trousers.

"He wants to know what you're going to do about the snake-thing." Piggy says.

Around us, everyone seems to break out into peals of laughter. I bite my lip to keep from joining them; I don't want to embarrass the kid further. Though laughter is contagious, so it's a struggle not to hold it in. How does Anna manage this all the time? Even now, she's not even smiling _slightly_!

"Wh-wh-" Ralph manages to get his own laughing down to a minimum just long enough to force out the question: "_What_ snake-thing?"

"The one in the woods." The little boy with the birthmark says, this time without Piggy having to prompt him. He still shuffles his feet and stares intently at the conch, though. "I saw it."

"It was probably nothing." Ralph assures him once the laughter of the entire party has been reduced down to a few snickers here and there. "You don't get enormous snakes on small islands. You only get _those_ in the biggest countries; like India."

Beside me, Anna snorts. When I shoot her a questioning look, she explains in a hushed tone; "He's just making facts up, now."

"But there _is_ one." The little boy insists. He's referring, of course, to the 'snake-thing'.

"It was probably a trick of the light, or something." Ralph suggests weakly.

"Well, if there _is_ a snake-thing," Jack says, "Which there isn't. But _if_ there is, I'll find it and kill it. Alright?"

The little boy with the birthmark nods his head fervently and hands the conch to Piggy, scurrying back to his gaggle of equally young friends.

At the front, Ralph seems to ask Piggy for the conch as the next thing I know, the shell is in his hands.

Ralph clears his throat, stealing any attention that might've still been rooted on the little boy and the snake-thing. "A ship or a plane or something is bound to go past sooner or later." He points out. "They can rescue us, but _only_ if they know we're here. So, to make sure they do, we should make a signal. Like… Like a fire!"

Things progress too quickly for me to fully comprehend. One moment, the area is filled with boys (and Anna, obviously… And also me); the next, it's more or less completely empty. All the boys have sprinted off towards the mountain, which pokes up through the trees of the forest. The snippets of conversation I catch seem to revolve around fire and rescue, for the most part.

Well, it turns out that when I said _all_ the boys, I meant _almost_ all the boys...

"Idiots." Piggy mutters under his breath, only audible to me because it's almost silent without the others. Louder, he shouts, "Wait for me!"

Of course, they don't.

I turn to face Anna. "Should we go?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "Why not?"

* * *

**It'll swerve off from the book a little more soon, I promise. I have to get all the conch-y stuff in first because it is _important_.**

**If any of you dear silent readers feel like being a little less, you know, _silent_, that would be nice :) But I love you all for reading this, anyway. I'm surprised you clicked on it, if I'm honest. This thing needs a better title...**


	4. A Big, Fiery Mess (Anna)

**Hello, people *waves* Thank you to everyone who decided to be a little less quiet :D And, as always, thank you to those of you reading this silently. I love you all! Though if you _do_ feel like being a little less quiet, don't let me stop you XD**

**Disclaimer: This chapter has a reference to Star Wars and L'Oreal, neither of which I own. Plus Lord of the Flies, obviously. I don't own that, either.**

* * *

We reach the top of the mountain last, which isn't all that surprising considering we left after everyone else. That, and we didn't exactly run here. If they want me to run, they seriously need to rethink their lives.

Even so, they can't have reached the top of the mountain _that_ much quicker than me and Sal, yet they've already managed to isolate Piggy. And what the _hell_ is Ralph doing with his glasses?

Immediately, Sally rushes over to Piggy, presumably to make sure he's okay and the others haven't done anything _too_ evil, not that stealing his glasses was very nice of them in the first place, but hey.

Ralph crouches down by a pile of sticks that they've apparently gathered together and holds Piggy's glasses above them.

"Anna, move." He commands without bothering to look up at me. "You're blocking the sunlight."

With a roll of my eyes, I sidestep to the left. Glancing up, Ralph smiles his thanks before returning his attention back to Piggy's glasses, which he uses to focus the sunlight onto the pile of twigs. It doesn't take long for the tiny column of smoke this produces to burst into a vibrant orange flame.

Evidently proud of himself, Ralph rises back up into a standing position and grins broadly.

"Well done, genius," I comment sarcastically. "Where's the smoke?"

Jack responds before Ralph has chance to. "What smoke?"

"Precisely." I state. "What smoke?"

The redhead stands there, brow furrowed in confusion, whilst the blond beside him catches on and groans.

"She's right; there's not enough smoke." He explains to the others.

Roger appears from seemingly out of nowhere. "_And_…?"

"And the smoke's what a passing ship would spot," Piggy interjects, striding over. Sally scampers after him, almost nervously so. I guess I'm not the only one with an inkling that he's about to do something stupid. "What good will this… This _lousy_ excuse for a fire do?"

"No-one asked you, Fatty." Jack grumbles. "So shut up. Besides, you didn't even help make the fire. Everyone else helped gather twigs, at least."

I glance at Sally, who smiles sheepishly but otherwise remains silent. Mutually, and completely through eye contact alone, we agree not to point out that we, actually, didn't do anything to help either.

"Ralph used his glasses." Simon points out. He's sitting cross-legged on the floor a little way away. Maurice kneels beside him, also watching the unfolding scene with interest. "He helped that way."

"None of this changes the fact that there isn't any smoke." Ralph turns the conversation back around again. "How do we make smoke? Any ideas?"

"You put green branches on the fire." Maurice explains. "I heard somewhere that it makes more smoke."

"Can I speak?"

"Shut _up_!" Jack stresses at Piggy.

"But I have the conch!" He insists, exasperated.

"Doesn't count up here."

"Ralph, tell him!" Piggy whines at the blond-haired chief.

Ralph rolls his eyes. "The conch _does_ count up here, Jack." He addresses the redhead, but it's clear that he means for all of us to take notice of his words. "It counts all over the island. That's the rule. We need rules, or else there'll be chaos."

Taking the conch off of Piggy, who glares but says nothing, Jack nods. "I agree. We need rules. Because we're not savages, we're English." _Because we're worth it_. The strangest image of Jack flipping a head full of waist-length red hair makes me almost burst out laughing, _almost_ being the key word.

Ralph smiles at him gratefully. I can't look at Jack without the urge to laugh hysterically forcing its way into my mind, so instead I stare at the floor by my feet, though I continue to listen to the others nonetheless.

"Someone has to look after the fire, and make sure it doesn't go out." Ralph decides.

"We can split the hunters." Jack suggests. "Some of them can look after the fire."

"Okay." Ralph agrees. "That sounds like a good plan." Like hell it does. You're placing an awful lot of trust in these people you've only known for about… Three hours, I'd make it. Maybe four, at a push.

"We'll let it go out, now." The redhead continues. "After all, it's practically night-time, so there's no point in making an enormous fire with loads of smoke if it's so dark the ships won't see it."

Roger takes the conch out of Jack's hands and, though the taller boy shoots him a warning sort of glare, coughs pointedly. Only when everyone (more or less- Simon seems to have found some sort of ant and is watching it crawl up his arm with an oddly happy sort of smile on his face. It's an _ant_, for Christ's sake.) has their full attention on him does he speak.

"I've been looking out to sea every so often since we first got here." He explains solemnly. "And not _once_ have I seen a ship. I don't think we're going to be rescued."

There's a strange thud, and I realise after a moment that it must've been Piggy stomping his foot in a slightly childish manner. He holds his hands out for the conch, but Roger turns away from him, shooting a smirk over his shoulder. Rolling his eyes, Ralph plucks the shell out of his hands and gives it to Piggy.

"That's what _I_ said!" The overweight boy reminds everyone. And he does, in fact, have a point. "But no-one cares when I say anything. But when Simon, or Maurice, or Roger say anything, everyone listens and it's… It's… It's stupid."

For someone with such clever ideas, he could really find some better adjectives to use. Just saying.

Beside him, Sally's eyes widen. Her hand, with its partially chewed fingernails, lands on his shoulder moments later and squeezes it tightly. I tiptoe around the others and stop just behind her.

"What's up?" I ask, more concern than is probably healthy creeping into my voice.

With her free hand, she raises a finger to her lips, signifying that I be quiet whilst Piggy continues to speak.

"You got your fire alright." He says, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Figuring this must be something to do with whatever's spooked Sally, as her grip on his shoulder has tightened at his words to the point that I'm surprised he isn't crying out in pain yet, I follow my best friend's gaze.

They've set the forest on fire. Bloody _boys_.

"We should've built shelters, first." Piggy continues, though the other boys seem to have completely lost focus and are now gawking at their big, fiery mess. "Now part of the island is on fire. How weird is it going to be if it burns down the entire island? We'll have to eat cooked fruit, and that's just crazy. And-"

"No-one's listening." Sally points out gently, releasing her grip on his shoulder and instead lifting her hand to her mouth so that she can nibble on her nails.

"Hey!" Piggy shouts over the racket, consisting of the excited (Yes, excited, I know. Idiots) murmurs of boys that have seemingly never seen a fire before in their lives. "I have the conch!"

"Shut up." Jack shoots back, eyes fixed on the fire below us.

Stumbling forward a few steps, Piggy removes one hand from the conch so that he can grab Ralph's arm. The blond pulls his gaze away from the fire to look over at Piggy.

"What?" He asks impatiently.

"The kid," Piggy struggles to explain. "The one with the birthmark… He… He's…"

"He's not here." Sally finishes for him, hurrying over to stand by his side. I follow after somewhat more slowly. "Where do you think he's gone?"

Piggy turns to shoot her a pointed look, one which fills her own face with evident panic. "No."

"Maybe he went back." Ralph suggests. Behind him, there's a loud crackle as the fire sends a tree plummeting towards the ground. We all jump slightly when it impacts with a loud thud. "Back to the…" He doesn't finish.

I don't think he needs to, though; we all get the message. Whirling round, Sally throws her arms round me and cries onto my shoulder. And she barely knew the kid, hadn't even held a conversation with him.

Patting my best friend awkwardly between the shoulder blades (I've never been great at this 'comfort' business), I make eye contact with Ralph. He smiles, though this time it's less of a narcissistic smile and more of an apologetic one, before turning to find Jack. Piggy's already gone to stand with Simon.

I continue to pat Sally every couple of seconds as her crying steadily grows harder.


	5. Girly Chat (Sally)

***hugs you all* YAY! This is one heck of a group hug, but whatever. Thank you reviewers for reviewing, because you are awesome. And readers who are still being silent, I love you also. You may also join in the group hug :D**

**This chapter might seem a little weird in terms of subject matter. But they are girls on an island full of boys and, let's face it, wherever they may be, certain things happen that cannot be avoided. So, um, yeah... This is my attempt at portraying that...**

**Also, there's swearing in this chapter. So... Beware the swearing? Idk if people are okay with swearing, but Anna swears when she's angry/frustrated/annoyed, so... That's that!**

* * *

Jack and his hunters are out… Hunting… I guess. It'd make sense, anyway. Although Simon isn't, even though he's technically supposed to be. I'm not all that surprised, really; he doesn't seem like the other boys from his school, at least from what I can gather. He seems nicer, less... Hunter-y...

No, rather than hunt, Simon is helping Ralph and Anna build shelters. I managed to weasel my way out of it on the grounds that I have the most _evil_ stomach ache ever. It is literally like someone is scrambling my insides into a teeny ball without bothering to kill me first. So, basically, _owwie_…

Anna doesn't have a stomach ache and, despite her insistence otherwise, Ralph managed to convince her to help with the shelters.

"It's either that, or watching over the littluns." He told her blankly. And we all know how Anna feels about small children; no contest, she chose the shelters.

However, because of my evil stomach ache of doom, sitting on the beach watching the littluns is about all I _can_ do. Not that I mind; they're quite sweet, really. Besides, so long as I'm quiet, they don't seem to realise I'm even here. It makes for some quality day-dreaming time, which is always good.

I've been sitting here for a while (it's probably almost noon, judging by how high the sun's getting) when there's a rustle behind me, footsteps, and then the low murmur of voices; Jack must be back. I refrain from turning round, as experience has taught me that stomach aches such as this do not appreciate movement. Turning it into a little game for myself, I decide to see if I can pick out who's speaking. It doesn't prove too hard.

First, there's a gulping sort of noise, followed by some sort of sloshing; sounds like someone having a drink. Then, there's the sound of one of the partially built shelters collapsing. Someone lets out a dejected sort of sigh (probably Ralph), which is followed by a frustrated groan (Anna, definitely) and a snicker (I'm thinking that might be Jack).

"People aren't helping!" Ralph's voice complains. "You remember we said that everyone had to help build shelters, right?"

"Except my hunters." Jack's voice cuts in.

"Yeah, except your hunters." Ralph agrees. "Well, it's just been us. The others have all run off to play, or eat, or bathe, or whatever it is they do."

There's a pause. "Where's Piggy?"

"Ass-mar." Ralph explains vaguely.

"That's nothing to joke about." Anna scolds.

"You've gotta admit, it _is_ kinda funny."

"Your face is funny!"

"Smooth, Anna," He shoots back just as quickly. "And oh-so original."

I may still have my back to them, but I know Anna well enough to say that she's probably giving Ralph her 'death glare' right about now. Part of me wants to swivel round, just to see it- it's very funny, provided it isn't aimed at you. However, all I need to do is inch slightly in a given direction and my stomach decides it wants to scramble itself up again, so it looks like I'm not going to just have to make do with listening and sitting ramrod straight.

"Um, guys," Jack's voice rings out loudly. "Not to interrupt this little… Whatever it is," I can just visualise my best friend's 'death glare' being turned on Jack. The idea makes me smile slightly to myself. "But where's Simon?"

"Simon?" Ralph repeats. "He's right…" There are a few footstep noises against the sand, "Where _is_ he?"

Pause. "What're you looking at _me_ for?" Anna snaps. "It's not like I _ate_ him or anything."

"He was here just a minute ago." Ralph mumbles, though whether to himself or to one of the others, I can't tell without looking, which I'm no going to do if I can help it. It _hurts_.

There are more footsteps, though only three before there's the squelching of sand- someone turning on their heel, maybe? This repeats several times, and I get the impression that someone's pacing.

"He's fine." Jack insists. "This is _just_ like Simon; always wandering off."

"But he was here!" Ralph states adamantly. "Just now, he was here! And then he…"

"Wasn't here?" Anna finishes, sarcasm tinting her voice.

If Ralph picks up on this, he doesn't show it. "Yes, exactly."

"Like I said," Jack chimes in, "He'll be _fine_. Unless he bumps into a pig, that is. Did I tell you? They're enormous! I almost caught one, but it got away before I could… I could…"

"Kill it?" Anna offers.

"That's it." Jack confirms, "Before I could kill it."

"He's probably bathing or something." Ralph declares. It takes me a moment to figure out that he's probably changed the subject back to Simon; why would a pig be having a bath? Though that is a rather amusing image… I wonder if they make shower caps for pigs...

"Yeah, whatever," Anna says. "It's about noon, and I'm fairly sure that means I'm free to go, considering how hot it gets. So long, fellas."

"Nuh-uh," Is the response, distinctly in Ralph's voice, "Not yet; we only have three shelters built. Or, rather, two and a half… The third sorta… Died…"

There's a long sort of pause, and the sound of more footsteps in the drier sand further back from the sea. Still staring out at the horizon, I strain my ears in an attempt to catch what's going on now.

"They've put green branches on." Ralph notes. "That's a lot of smoke. I'm surprised no-one's seen it yet." He must be referring to the signal fire which is, thankfully, under control now. Though we still haven't heard from that kid with the mulberry birthmark…

_No, Sally, happy thoughts_.

"I wonder…" Jack interjects thoughtfully.

"If this is about pigs," Anna draws out warningly, "I'm going to kill you."

"Whoever mentioned pigs?" Jack's voice rings out innocently.

"I mean it." She states. "I will; don't think I won't."

"I highly doubt you'd _actually_ kill me." The head hunter retorts. "And anyway, what if I _was_ going to talk about pigs?"

There's a pause, before Ralph speaks up. "I'll hold him down."

"_What_?" Anna's voice practically screeches before there's the sound of something collapsing again, though it sounds much heavier than the shelter's destruction did earlier.

A few seconds later, Anna falls into the sand beside me. I turn my head slightly to the left, so that I can see her properly, but refrain from shifting the rest of my body. If I'm going to do that, I'll have to do it very carefully to prevent my stomach from taking up the challenge of hurting even more.

"They're play-fighting." She explains tiredly. "They're actually play-fighting." Glancing over her shoulder, no doubt back at the pair, she turns to gaze out over the horizon, just as I've been doing all morning. "Urgh, _boys_."

* * *

The sun has just finished setting, and night is just beginning to settle over us, when I sneak back to the beach looking, I'm fairly sure, horrible. Yes, there is blood. Maybe not a lot, but enough for someone not in the know to think I've been brutally attacked by a crazed lunatic with a chainsaw. Possibly. Whatever it may look like, I'm pretty sure that if one of the littluns catches sight of me, they are going to have nightmares for the rest of forever and it will totally be all my fault.

Those not trying to get to sleep (which is the category most of the littluns fall into) are gathered around a small fire set up for warmth. For such a boiling hot island, it gets terribly cold at night. Here, Jack is animatedly telling a story which everyone seems to be ever so engrossed in. Except Anna, of course, though she's probably enjoying it anyway; these things aren't visible unless you know her as well as I do.

Annoyingly, the fact that she's seated with them means I'll have to try and get her attention without alerting the boys to my presence. Because I _really_ don't want to deal with them right now.

"Anna!" I try whisper-shouting from the bushes. "Anna, turn around!"

This goes on for a while. Eventually she hears and, excusing herself under the guise of needing the toilet, she hurries over and yanks me a little further back into the forest, where we won't be seen from the beach.

"What?" She asks bluntly.

"Do you have any towels?" I blurt out.

"As in big, fluffy things you use after swimming?" She quizzes. "Or the _other_ sort?"

"The other sort."

"Crap." She curses. "And we usually come on within a few days of each-other, don't we?"

I nod.

"Crap!" She swears again, louder this time. I'm surprised the boys on the beach don't hear her. Jack must be telling one _awesome_ story to have everyone so captivated. "Crap, crap, shit, fuck, crap!"

"I'll take that as a 'no, Sally, I do not have any towels'." I interrupt. "What am I supposed to do, Anna?"

"You could use the sleeve of your blouse or something?" She offers. When my only response is to stare at her blankly, she turns me round slightly and starts yanking at the sleeve of my once-white-but-now-more-of-a-grey-brown blouse.

I think she's trying to tear it off, but it doesn't look like she's getting very far.

"What do they _make_ the fabric for these things out of?" She wonders aloud, releasing me and taking a step backward. "Titanium?"

There's a rustle in the bushes, coming from the complete opposite direction of the beach, which means it can't be one of the boys. Beside me, Anna tenses slightly. My mind remembers the beast that the littluns fear so much, and I hastily try to assure myself that there's no such thing.

Whatever it is breaks through the bushes after what, if we're going by the amount of shaking the leaves were doing, seems to have been quite a struggle. It is only Simon; harmless Simon.

"What're you doing out here?" Anna asks suspiciously.

He blinks at her, like his brain is still trying to process the fact that we're standing in front of him. When he finally replies, it's with another question; "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I asked you first." She snaps back quickly.

He sighs sleepily. "I was just walking. You?"

"We were having a girly chat." It's laced with a tone that I'm not sure whether or not is meant to be sarcastic.

Simon looks to me, as if for confirmation. When I nod, he shuffles his feet awkwardly and turns back to Anna. "Is there anything I can help with?"

"Not unless you have any sanitary towels with you, no."

He blushes a shade of crimson so bright it's visible despite the diminishing light levels. I suppose the gravity of 'girly chat' has sunken in. While I doubt Anna feels guilty, I know I definitely do. He didn't know he was going to stumble in a period conversation when he offered to help, did he?

"Anna, he's only trying to help." I berate my best friend. "There's no need to be so hard on him."

"It's the truth though, isn't it?" She snaps defensively. "We need sanitary towels." Technically, as of right now, only _I_ need a sanitary towel, but I'm not going to point that out.

"Um, girls," Simon says experimentally. We both turn to face him, and he hastily returns his gaze back down to the floor again. "There's a plant with a sort of down. It's quite fluffy, but at the same time it actually seems really sturdy. Would that work?" He glances upwards, expression so hopeful it's endearing.

"No." Anna decides for me.

"Anna!" I scold, turning back to Simon. "Could you show me?"

He nods and sets off. I make to go after him, but am stopped by Anna's hand on my shoulder. "Don't do anything stupid." She warns, sprinting off, back in the direction of the beach.

Shaking my head, I head after Simon as fast as feels comfortable.

* * *

**I'm going to attempt to justify the 'magical sanitary towel tree' now, okay?**

**1) It isn't actually called 'the magical sanitary towel tree'. Before next chapter, I'll squish some Latin words together to create some sort of science-y name for it, like you get with most real life plants.**

**2) It doesn't grow _actual_ sanitary towels. That would be really weird. I'm picturing the 'down' as sort of giant versions of old man's beard. As in, the plant, not an actual old man's beard 0.o From what I know, there's a spiky variety and a really fluffy one that you just want to cuddle (or maybe that's just me...), and it's the cuddly one I'm going for here.**

**3) The island grows a lot of weird flowers anyway *prods candle-shaped flowers* so fluffy ones partially based on old man's beard aren't really all that out there.**

**Anyways, reviews are awesome. Otherwise, I love you all; thank you for reading!**


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